This melancholy conclusion was reenforced and rendered demonstrable by a letter which arrived, to crown my woes, from my respected father, informing me that he had unhappily become indebted to our chairman in the sum of two thousand pounds, the result of a deal between them, that he had seen the chairman, that the chairman was urgent for payment, that he used most violent language against our family in general, ending by declaring his intention of stopping my salary to pay the parental debt.  “If he doesn’t like it he may go, and small loss.”  This was a most unjustifiable proceeding, but I was hardly in a position to take up a high moral attitude toward the chairman, and in the result I saw myself confronted with the certainty of beggary and the probability of jail.  But for this untoward reverse of fortune I might have taken courage and made a clean breast of my misdoings, relying on the chairman’s obligations to my father to pull me through.  But now, where was I?  I was, as Donna Antonia put it, very deep in indeed.  So overwhelmed was I by my position, and so occupied with my frantic efforts to improve it, that I did not even find time to go and see the signorina, much as I needed comfort; and, as the days went on, I fell into such despair that I went nowhere, but sat dismally in my own rooms, looking at my portmanteau, and wondering how soon I must pack and fly, if not for life, at least for liberty.

At last the crash came.  I was sitting in my office one morning, engaged in the difficult task of trying to make ten into fifteen, when I heard the clatter of hoofs.

A moment later the door was opened, and Jones ushered in Colonel McGregor.  I nodded to the colonel, who came in with his usual leisurely step, sat himself down, and took off his gloves.  I roused myself to say: 

“What can I do for you, colonel?”

He waited till the door closed behind Jones, and then said: 

“I’ve got to the bottom of it at last, Martin.”

This was true of myself also, but the colonel meant it in a different sense.

“Bottom of what?” I asked, rather testily.

“That old scamp’s villainy,” said he, jerking his thumb toward the Piazza and the statue of the Liberator.  “He’s very ’cute, but he’s made a mistake at last.”

“Do come to the point, colonel.  What’s it all about?”

“Would you be surprised to hear,” said the colonel, adopting a famous mode of speech, “that the interest on the debt would not be paid on the 31st?”

“No, I shouldn’t,” said I resignedly.

“Would you be surprised to hear that no more interest would ever be paid?”

“The devil!” I cried, leaping up.  “What do you mean, man?”

“The President,” said he calmly, “will, on the 31st instant, repudiate the national debt!”

I had nothing left to say.  I fell back in my chair and gazed at the colonel, who was now employed in lighting a cigarette.  At the same moment a sound of rapid wheels struck on my ears.  Then I heard the sweet, clear voice I knew so well saying: